shut up and drive
by paper streets
Summary: Finn, Holley, and a car parked in an empty graveyard in the middle of the night. It's a stakeout; it's hot. Of course they're going to handle things professionally, right? Wrong. / FinnHolley, humanized.


**jottings**: head-canons. otps. smut. what.

**dedication**: to the very lovely Alyssa and Collin, whom i both blame and thank for this existing.

**notes 1: **the inspiration was from a prompt on the Disney Kink Meme; takes place a year or so after the events of Cars 2. also, the kickstart of my obnoxiously detailed head-canons for these two.

**notes 2: **i don't even _know_, you guys.

**disclaimed**.

**(edit—just cleaning up some typos and changing my author's note.)**

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><p>This whole midnight stakeout thing is really not working for her.<p>

Holley sighs, uncrossing her legs and crossing them the other way. She pauses for several seconds, then uncrosses them again.

When the commander-in-chief is all over her ass for not having a thorough enough report, Holley is going to blame Finn. Because in all honesty, this is his fault.

At this moment, Holley and Finn, they're shoved side by side in a much-too-small car with a faulty air-conditioner, their bloodshot eyes scouring the graveyard for suspicious activity. The _empty_ graveyard, mind you.

(Whoever told headquarters that a gang of Neo-Nazi terrorist adolescents were holding court in this particular cemetery was terribly mistaken).

"There seems to be some sort of movement to your left, Miss Shiftwell," Finn says. Holley doesn't have time to respond before he's lunging across her lap to get a better view of the window.

She follows his gaze half-heartedly, strangling her index finger with a lock of brown hair. "I don't see anything."

They've been at it for four hours, and she's getting sick of this.

Finn hovers over her that way for several minutes before admitting defeat and pulling himself back into his own seat. "I suppose you're correct." He runs a hand through his usually impeccable black hair, blinking wearily.

Holley tugs at the collar of her blouse. It's much too hot inside this tiny car, she can't understand why she'd chosen today of all days to wear layers. Then again, she hadn't known about their little _mission_ when she'd reported to CHROME this morning.

Or, come to think of it, when she stayed up half the previous night watching Doctor Who reruns (fucking show, being so damn engaging and fun to watch).

Without even thinking, her fingers begin working the top button of her shirt, just to loosen it up. Then the next button, and the next, and before she knows it, she's shrugging it off her slender shoulders.

"What on earth are you doing, Holley?"

Holley turns a pair of wide green eyes on Finn, her shirt hanging from the crooks of her elbows. "Nothing."

She pulls it the rest of the way off and tosses the offending fabric into the back seat, leaving her with a tight black tank top and a concerned partner gawking at her. "It was getting much too hot," she defends.

Finn raises his eyebrows, trying to keep his mind fixed on the task at hand and not on the well defined shape of his partner's breasts. It's a task much easier said than done when it comes to Holley Shiftwell. He swallows hard, struggling to overlook the evident swelling in his lower half, more so praying that _Holley_ will pay no attention to it.

Holley chews her lip, tucking a chestnut wave behind her ear. She tries to ignore the tight knot coiling in her stomach that she's certain has nothing to do with the excitement of watching an empty cemetery in the middle of the night.

A hand brushes her shoulder lightly. Holley's bare toes curl against the floor mat as she turns to acknowledge Finn. "Catch sight of more action?" She asks, not bothering to hide the sarcasm apparent in her tone.

The older agent disregards her flippancy. "I believe there is a bit of," he pauses, clearing his throat. "_Action_ as you put it, to the right."

He looks out of the window once more. Taking advantage of the opportunity he's so blatantly presented to her, Holley stretches herself leisurely across the armrest and puts her hands against the opposite side of his seat to balance herself.

"You don't say."

Finn can feel Holley's warm breath against his neck and her breasts are brushing against his arm and he clenches his teeth so hard he won't be surprised if he manages to break his own jaw.

"I don't see anything, Finn," Holley says, her voice nothing more than a hoarse whisper. She presses all of her weight into one hand while the other ghosts over her partner's thigh.

"I'm beginning to lose faith in the operation myself," breathes Finn, steadfast bluegreen eyes beginning to slide shut.

Holley responds with deep-throated hum. Her slender hand slides between his legs, cupping the hardened bulge.

Finn's eyes pop open. "Miss Shiftwell," he practically shouts, voice breaking as Holley presses her hand harder against him. "I cannot allow this to continue any further." He grinds his teeth, contradicting himself entirely when he bucks into her hand.

"Come on, Finn, don't lie to me," goads Holley with a wicked smile. Her fingers move to the zipper of his pants.

He seizes her wrist almost violently. "Stop," he growls. "We _cannot_ do this."

Holley presses her lips together. She _needs _this. It's been so long. She'd fucked around a bit back in secondary school, but had to focus on her studies when she'd entered the spy academy. And it's not like she has all the time in the world to just go down on herself every night that she's feeling desperate for a shag.

It's been _so fucking long_.

"It's not the time to be chivalrous, Mr. McMissile, if that's what you think you're doing," sighs Holley, kneeling in her seat.

"Holley," groans Finn, running his palm over his face. "You're _young_. You're…you're beautiful. You have _time_ to find someone better for you than myself. I'm much too old—."

Holley shakes her head exasperatedly. "I want this. I want _you._" Her eyes are so big and innocent, Finn has to look away.

She takes his silence as a good sign because she's never been very good at waiting for tangible responses. She reaches out, putting her hand on his face so he'll look at her again.

"I want you," she repeats. Finn barely opens his mouth to speak before Holley covers his lips with her own.

In some oddly graceful movement, Holley manages to swing her legs over the console and finagle her way into straddling Finn's lap.

"Now let me finish what I started," she commands with such headiness, it's almost enough to push him over the edge. But the lady is always supposed to come first, and Finn is too much of a gentleman to forget that.

Finn shoves her back flat against the steering wheel. "My turn, Holley."

Holley brow arches, shivering at her loss of dominance, before she feels Finn's hand caressing the insides of her bare thighs. Always helpful, Holley tears at her skirt, pulling it up over her hips as high as it will go.

The fabric scrawled across the groove between her legs is hot when Finn rubs his fingers over it. Holley shamelessly groans in frustration. Knickers are such a nuisance; she's not even sure why she bothers wearing then anymore.

Finn can't resist chuckling at the girl spread before him. She's so much more…_different_ than the other women he's made squirm like this in the past.

(_Perfect_ is the word he's looking for, but he'd never admit to it out loud.)

When Finn finally manages to pull the scraps of fabric off her and the pads of his fingers graze over her clit, Holley's teeth come down so fiercely on her magenta painted bottom lip, blood threatens to swell.

Finn rubs at her center softly, mischievously, until she nearly kicks him in the face and yells at him to stop teasing. His fingers work faster, flying over her soft skin.

Holley whimpers when he finds a particularly sensitive spot. He smirks, rubbing harder. She throws her head back, choking on moans as her body is wracked with spasms of pleasure.

Breasts heaving with jagged breaths, Holley grasps the lapels of Finn's suit and pulls herself closer. She crushes their lips together again, forcing her tongue into his mouth as her fingers deftly undo the buttons of his shirt.

Holley leaves a trail kisses down Finn's neck, sucking and biting at his pulse. She can feel his erection digging into her quivering thigh, and she's so dizzy with lust she can barely see straight anymore. Slowly, her hand strays below his waist once more. She grasps the zipper, pulling it down forcefully and thrusting her hand inside.

Finn growls, a deep vibration that goes straight to her core. She shudders, insides burning. Her fingertips graze over him lightly.

"Hm," Holley says, withdrawing her hand and tapping her lip in mock-thoughtfulness. "I think maybe you're right, Finn."

"What?" He pants, staring up at her with heavily dilated pupils.

"Maybe we shouldn't be doing this right now." Holley shrugs as though she actually believes the utter _nonsense _she's spouting off.

"Holley, I don't think this is the _time_ to experience a change of heart," he groans, struggling to resist the urge to just finish the job himself.

She leans closer, pressing her nose against his. "Say it, Finn."

Finn rolls his eyes. This is not him. He's won many sexual conquests, always leaving the women writhing beneath him, but then in comes awkward and adorable little Holley Shiftwell, and she leaves him struggling to speak and begging for mercy.

"You know what I want to hear." Holley's lips press to his jugular while her hand squeezes around him.

His muscles tighten almost unbearably. "I want you, Holley," he finally cries out through clenched teeth.

Holley's positively beaming, and that alone makes Finn's chest swell inexplicably.

He's not expecting it when Holley sinks down onto him. She's hot and wet and tight around him, and the way her mouth is falling open, it's all too much.

Holley's short, polished nails dig into his shoulders, leaving red crescent moons that will no doubt puff up into welts by morning. She grinds down on him and his hands grasp desperately at her pert breasts, smearing kisses across the plain of her chest.

Finn thrusts his hips forward, against hers. He can barely think anymore, able to do nothing but feel as they rock together violently. Everything around him, it's all Holley, she's the only thing in the world that matters and she's never looked more perfect to anyone than she does to him in this moment.

"Finn, I…" Holley's voice fell short as he thrust again, striking her in just the right spot. She comes with a cry of his name before slumping against his chest.

He falls over the edge shortly after her, succumbing to feeling as white spots cover his eyes. "Holley," he rasps quietly, wrapping his arm around her.

Holley kisses his collarbone. "Finn." She untangles herself from him, flopping back into her own seat. She smoothes her tangled hair and casually asks "You haven't seen my knickers, have you?"

Shrugging, Finn cracks a debonair half-smile at the girl. "No, Miss Shiftwell, I have not, but I'd recommend you just leave them off. Useless garment, knickers are."

Holley returns the smile and scoots closer to her partner-in-crime (or rather, the-stopping-of-crime, but that doesn't have as nice of a ring to it). "Whatever you say, sir."

Finn drapes his arm over Holley's shoulders. Outside, the sun is rising over the graveyard, warming the cold gray stones.

"We really should do this again sometime," says Holley, pressing herself deeper into his side. He kisses the top of her head.

For the record, when they waltz into headquarters looking entirely fucked, reporting absolutely no activity in the graveyard what-so-ever, and everyone gives them that disapproving, disbelieving, _we-know-what-you-did-last-night_ look, Holley is going to blame Finn.

Because in all honesty, this was his fault.

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><p>i just…the ending. ugh. finishing is hard.<p>

i do think i should explain a few things, though, because some of this may seem OOC. part of my head-canon would be that finn is a really patient and courteous lover, whereas holley is eager and vivacious; the girl knows what she wants. it's different for finn, being dominated like this, which is why he responds so desperately at times.

yeah. i have too much time on my hands apparently.


End file.
